A Diary From Noone

She spoke but no one heard, every scream seemed a whisper, and so she took pen to paper...

Tag: #home

Nanny’s Nursey Rhyme

My Nanny Sarah is a character and a half. Perhaps one day I shall write her story and share her range of tales from bitter to sweet and all that is in between, as my Grandmother has had a very eventful life. Now eighty-eight years of age, with the beginnings of dementia, often happily she repeats the following Nursery Rhyme. A rhyme that represents promise, hope and excitement. Now a days with global warming and the threat of Brexit, the wrongful shenanigans re. The Windrush era and threat of British entitlement being removed from those that gave up everything, their homes, loved ones, history, brainwashed and promised that England and their Queen across the sea’s would welcome my ancestors with open and welcoming arms, permitting them to walk the streets pathed with gold, bathed in equality, flourishing with employment, good wages, better opportunity, happiness and freedom. Groomed from a young age, with nursery rhymes such as these, how shocked they must have been at the cruel, ignorant, brutality that they were showered with once stepping off the great ships on voyage to glory, but strength and perseverance, resistance and determination carried them through the horrors first endured, “No Blacks, No Dogs, No Irish”! Now myself being 2nd generation British, be it swept under the carpet, I must not forget, we must not forget, the fight that was had and sadly in many ways still is, for the entitlement in which I am in receipt of today, I am a Black British Woman with Caribbean heritage, we have come a long way, but we still have a long way to go.

“When I leave school,
I means to go away,
To see how other people work and play,
I need to take a trip across the sea,
Of cause I mean the ship must take me,
And then I’ll go to England,
France,
Germany,
And Spain,
And even then,
I won’t come home again!”

Was that rhyme so embed into my Nanny’s head, that some years later she indeed took a ship to England? She did go home again, but only to holiday. I am one of the fortunate grandchildren that got to go back to Montserrat with my Nan, but England for better or worse became her home and Birmingham City, the place of birth to my Mother, her siblings, many of my cousins and I. I wonder what my life would have been like if she stayed overseas!? Now in reverse, the Caribbean is the destination across the sea and has a place in Nan’s heart, full of memory and she most likely will never go home again. Although she has actually spent the majority of her life in England and so Great Britain is her home, now the only one dreaming about across the sea, is me, I don’t know to much about the living lifestyle in the Caribbean today, but I do know that Great Britain disappointingly isn’t so Great!

Performing…

I thought that spoken word was so easy,
That being myself was the best kind of performing,
Because you write your own script,
Direct,
Produce,
Visualise,
Create,
Everything yourself,
But I fear that I may have been mistaken.
Performing is performing,
And performing I love you,
But my psychosis is now sabotaging my gift of creativity.
When you don’t have a character to hide behind,
Sharing your own art is a very difficult thing to do.
With my acting background,
With my head in the game,
Crowds don’t phase me,
I can deliver,
I like it,
I feel at home on the stage,
But I did not take my honesty into consideration,
My ill health into consideration.
I get so much pleasure from helping others,
Expressing myself creatively,
Reaching out to those curious, similar or exactly like me,
But have absoluteluy no idea how to help myself.
I wish my performance was a play,
But these days I showcase my own life,
And now it is over for a while,
I really feel the pain and strife.
The audience receive a short summary of what my life is like,
When it finishes,
For them it ends,
But I cannot escape my own life!
I didn’t realise at the time,
But I became an actor to take advantage of executing different emotions,
Emotions that as human beings we all need to express and feel,
Being emotionally unstable,
This was a playground for me,
Acting allowed me to play,
Experiment and release,
To feel emotions that we so desperately need to experience to progress,
And grow naturally.
Now speaking spoken word,
With Words That Are Nothing But True,
I have all of these emotions and I simply don’t know what to do.
So for now,
I decided to start with writing to you!
I have no regrets,
Only envy,
Hope helps troubled minds,
But I have been medically informed that my illness will always be a part of me,
With no escape,
A condemned eternity of misery.
A huge cloud now hangs above my destiny,
I am trying to process and accept the character that this makes me,
But this is not the way that I wanted things to be,
And I mustn’t fool myself that what lye’s ahead will be easy.

Coming home…

Coming home has been most strange. The flat was not like how I thought that I left it. Of cause having a visit from home treatment team today was indeed an eye opener! When I left my house twenty-three days ago I was out of sorts. Being hypnotized by psychosis, under pressure to conform to the wants, needs and most particular instructions off the two voices with no face (he and she) as I call them, I was obviously not at all in control of my mind, body, soul and actions. I remember certain particulars that I felt obligated to complete, to clean the flat, do all of my laundry, pack hospital bag, write goodbye letters, to prepare a deathly cocktail of alcohol and pharmaceutical drugs. I remember feeling tired and emotional, wanting to sleep but feeling forced to be up all hours completing my set tasks. I believe I did conk out for a short while, waking up in hope that the crisis had come and gone, but it had not. As if I hadn’t slept (and I hadn’t much at all), the orders continued and I completed but all on their ghastly list. Soon after, luckily home treatment arrived and for a brief period of time, just having a kind and familiar face in my home, I managed to articulate and confess as to what had happened. My fate may have turned out somewhat different if my nurse had not come exactly when she did. Once I confessed, it was game over. I don’t remember much else. I was all of a sudden in an ambulance, then in A&E. Today I got told that I could not walk, talk or keep my eyes open, apparently they had to put me in a wheel chair to evacuate my house, that explained why my new hall way rug was rolled up when I got home Saturday. How scary! I had completely forgotten, the paramedics,the ambulance journey, my time in A&E, apart from being pinched, poked and prodded a lot, yet I could not move nor talk, paralysed from the lethal concoctions that I had taken. I must have been there all day. I then got wheeled to a psychiatric decisions unit where I was instructed to lay bedding out on a reclining chair in a communal room. I did and I slept. The next day I was admitted to a female acute psychiatric ward. I have spoken about the trials and tribulations of my twenty-two day hospital stretch since then and there is nothing else or new to report.
I was discharged from hospital Saturday. My mother picked me up, we stopped off at Aldi and then she drove me home, helped me take in all of my hospital bags and shopping and then left me to it. I panicked straight away. I could not find where I had put me house keys, I ran out of my flat, pressed the code to exit my garden on the big, black, cast iron gate, shouting, “Mummy, Mummy, Mummy” as she speed off my driveway and up the road. She didn’t hear me, she didn’t see me! What was I to do? At that very moment, I felt so very vulnerable. After three weeks in an institution where you hate that everything that you do and say is watched and recorded, I panicked about being alone, about having to be independent instantaneously. I found my keys but sat down and had a huge panic attack, followed by a huge cry. I am more then aware that I am not a child, but that innocence, insecurity and reliance on being guided, lead the right way and reassured are all but the same guidelines that one needs when they are feeling vulnerable. I may be out of hospital but I am still feeling very vulnerable. The voices have dumbed down and so I am no longer in crisis but my own thoughts are louder then ever. I am trying to process what happened but I am physically and emotionally exhausted. I can’t focus on one simple task at a time and keep ending up with several half done chores. My emotions are tender, my head is sore. I miss the noise from the ward, even the fifteen minute checks, including torch lights shining through your door all through the night! It was all so tight sceduled , it made me feel safe. The chaos from other patients disallowed me to focus on what I had done, what had happened, what was going on, what was happening to me.
Now home alone, I have no choice but to acknowledge what things had lead to my latest relapse/crisis whatever you want to call it. One thing that I know for sure, is that there is an awful lot to process. I feel a burden asking for help, especially when I am not sure what it is that I need help with exactly. I do know that whether I am in hospital or not, I am going through some mega trials and tribulations and support, even just a text, is very welcome, such communication means so very much to me, it proves that people care, it gives me strength to start to believe that my existence on this earth is not worthless and that I am not undeserving of the gift of life, because that is how I mostly feel. When manic, it all seems so silly and I feel like nothing is really wrong at all. When depressed, it all seems terribly unfair and unbearable. Those moments terrify me. I fluctuate from both, over and over, all day, everyday. They say that you can only help yourself but occasional contact from people that may assume that I know that they care, would benefit me beyond belief. Radio silence from all and sundry leaves me feeling paranoid and worthless. Unfortunately I need to be told that I am cared for, important to someone, some people. With my low self confidence, I cannot take it as read. In all honesty, I never have. Perhaps if with your help and the strength that I hope to find and build, in time, I may be strong enough to ignore my psychosis, there is no guarantee that I can rid of it but perhaps one day, I can put a lid on it, feel worthy and work on the rest from there.
If people out there do not know or understand my mental heath issues and want to talk to me about it, it won’t be easy, I cannot promise to have all the answers but I would rather talk it out before you write me off and I loose you. My blog is rather informative but if you need more, reach out to because the sad reality of all this, is that it isn’t over and I have no idea when and if the hallucinations, impulse and self destructive behaviour will come again, and therefore I cannot promise that I will be as lucky, should there be a next time.
Please just take comfort in knowing that I am trying my very best to reach the top and stay on it, being low is not a good way for me to go, but it is happening more and more over the years and I feel like it is out of my control.
Be in my life, help me make positive decisions and stay on top, then and only then will I really help others, by speaking the truth about recovery, should I personally discover it.

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